A nation full of billionaires

So, another western conspiracy is out in the open. All the tall claims by Uncle Sam that things are horribly awry in Mugabe's Zimbabwe have proved to be as false as his constant ranting about the presence of WMDs in Saddam's Iraq.

Zimbabwe is infact the only country in the world where almost each and every citizen is a billionaire. The citizens there are so blessed with riches that their messiah president Robert Mugabe issues Fifty Billion Dollar notes for circulation in the market.

Only if all this was true. Well, unfortunately this time it seems that the US of America and its western brethern have got it right. Robert Mugabe has lost it completely and has pushed his country to the brink of one of the most disastrous economic breakdowns ever witnessed in history.

Hyperinflation unofficially stands at four million percent today in the African nation. The government is issuing 50 million dollar notes as this apparently princely sum adds up to only a single US dollar.

While, 50 gm toilet soaps are cut into 10 pieces by shopkeepers and sold in exorbitant rates, 'Herald', the state owned English newspaper costs a whopping 15 billion Zimbabwe dollars.

It is probably the only country in the world where it does not pay to be a billionaire anymore .

Bringing an Indian connection to the situation in Zimbabwe, an unidentified NRI settled in Zimbabwe once deposited a billion dollar cheque in a Madhya Pradesh temple. The temple management, over the monn, thinking that it was sitting on a pile of wealth, promptly handed over the cheque to a local bank for encashment.

To the utter dismay of the priests there, the bank informed that the cheque would translate into a mere Two Rupees in Indian currency and that the processing fee for getting the international cheque encashed would be much more than that.

As would be the case with most Indians, my concerns about Zimbabwe emanate from its rapid decline as a cricketing nation. Zimbabwe's constant improvement as a cricket team always excited me in the early nineties.

The Flowers, the Goodwins and Johnsons created a realistic hope that the ten nation weak world of cricket would get a new powerhouse and the ICC's efforts to popularise the game globally would get an impetus. But a turbulent political regime has already scripted a sudden death for the gentlemen's game in Zimbabwe.

The country's main commercial activity, farming has taken a beating due to Mugabe's controversial land reforms. Things has reached such a pass that the official mint does not have adequate paper to print notes.

The world could afford the death of a cricket team but if Mugabe's mayhem continues, we might well see the death of an entire nation this time.

Brother in the Brothel

All you guys (if at all somebody is reading it) must be wondering as to why I should dedicate my first ever blog entry to something as blasphemous as brothels. Well, actually the seemingly dark and dangerous world of prostitution can also throw up hilarious experiences, just as a distant cousin of mine recently found out.

One rainy night, Ravi (name changed on request) moved out of his house with plans of a lusty sexual rendezvous. After all, 25 long years of unwanted and irritating virginity had taken its toll on him. So, here was our man out to explore a new world, a world that would take the real man out of him.

Braving the hostile albeit seductive weather, the Chemistry graduate reached the dark alleys of Shakerpara, the sex trade hotspot of the city. As he entered the lane with rickety concrete shacks on both sides, the braveheart in him suddenly deserted him leaving him absolutely stonemouthed to tackle the onslaught of the the hundreds of pimps and dalals who were all offering him the 'best deal'.

Stammering and sweating profusely as if he was writing an exam, Ravi followed a middle aged woman who somehow (inexplicably though) looked a bit more reasonable than others. He was led into a dark and stinking room with 'two tier' facility. Yeah, the two tiers are very similar to the sleeping arrangement in our railway coaches. Two couples were busy in the act on both the tiers producing sounds Ravi had only heard in porno films.

Though already repenting his decision to come here, Ravi nevertheless tried to put up a brave face and nervously babbled to the pimp to give him a single tier facility and the best girl in store. The woman, in her late forties, who was called 'Mausi' by everyone around stared at him for a few seconds and then started laughing loudly enough to irritate those busy in the 'tiers'.

My cousin was now scared wondering what Mausi was upto. Ruffling his hair gently, the otherwise stern lady told him, "Go son, you are too good for this place. Go home and drink milk".

Not able to hide his embarrassment, Ravi tried to regain his composure and said "No no, I am very capable. I am sure I will be good enough" as if he was putting his CV forward to a prospective employer.

The answer that he got in return was enough for him to swear that he wouldnt visit a brothel again in his life. "Jata hai ya main apne ladko ko bulaun" shouted the Mausi in her shrill voice. Ravi ran for his life cursing himself for the misadventure.

Its been two years since that fateful night and Ravi continues to be a virgin. Almost everyday he tells me , "Even the prostitutes rejected me. Where do I go now".